


Where My Music's Playing

by poisontaster



Series: Heart 'Verse [5]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Sibling Incest, Songfic, Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-06-19
Updated: 2006-06-19
Packaged: 2018-05-13 03:37:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5693140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poisontaster/pseuds/poisontaster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam's homeward bound.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Where My Music's Playing

**Author's Note:**

> Written for scribblinlenore's Lenore's Utterly Egocentric Summer of Love Challenge (her words, not mine). To quote: pick one of the top 100 songs of 1966, pick a fandom, and put your creativity to work. Post what you come up with on June 20th. This one was written for Simon & Garfunkel's "Homeward Bound".

"Hey, Dean. Where you at?" Sam sits on the station bench and leans back against the brick of the wall. The heat it's absorbed from the bright sunlight feels good on his back through his shirt. His heel kicks a not-quite rhythm against the battered case at his feet.

"Halfway to Anniston to pick up your dumb ass," Dean says, but it sounds like he's grinning. In the background, Sam can hear the radio blaring but he can't quite make out the song. He envisions Dean's hands, tapping out the bass line. He envisions Dean's hands. "Your train running on time?"

"So far." He'd gotten a coffee from the wheezing vending machine inside the station. It tastes like deep-roasted ass but it's hot and caffeine laden and that's what counts. Even in the thick Mississippi summer heat, he feels half-frozen to his bones.

"Then what's up?"

Sam lets his eyes drift closed for a second. It's been a week and a half, almost two. The longest they've been apart since Stanford. Just the sound of Dean's voice is doing interesting things to his anatomy, now that he's got the prospect of actually seeing and touching—and possibly fucking into the ground—Dean in five short hours. "Nothing?"

"Well, I'm kind of driving here, man."

"And here I thought there wasn't anything the great Dean Winchester couldn't do," Sam laughs taking another sip of his coffee. Even the dismaying clumps of creamer floating around like icebergs in the cup can't ruin his mood. "Or…nothing he'd admit to, at any rate."

"Well," Dean grumbles. "Yeah. I am pretty awesome that way."

"Not to mention completely full of yourself." Sam leans sideways and checks the case again, though he knows it hasn't moved and the contents are just as secure as they were two minutes ago when he last checked.

"But rightfully so," Dean says.

It had been so simple at the start; a vision and a job with a specific date trigger sent them off in two different directions with a plan to meet up in Alabama in a couple days. But they were Winchesters. Things never _stayed_ simple. And now it was nine days later instead of two and Sam was itching to see Dean again—not that he'd ever admit any such thing, or face a lifetime of humiliation.

"You know, I've always wondered," Sam says, "What color is the sky on your world? Because it clearly isn't the same world _I'm_ living in."

The door to the station opens up and out of reflex, Sam looks. A slender dark-haired woman in a limp flowered dress emerges into the sunshine, cigarette and purple lighter in one hand and a magazine in the other. She lights up, blows an impatient line of smoke and starts flicking through the pages agitatedly.

"You talk mighty tough for a dude who's going to be looking for a ride in a few hours," Dean breezes back. "Course, you might as well yuk it up now, because when I get my hands on you, you won't have much time for talking."

Sam totally has no control of the spasm of his leg that sends the guitar case tipping face down onto the concrete. "Dammit!"

"Sounds like you're having some problems there, Sammy boy." Dean sounds amused. "Could be you been missing my cock?"

"And here I thought it was the other way around," Sam retorts, lifting the guitar and slinging one arm around it.

"You just get here," Dean says, "and I'll show you what I've been missing."

There's a note in Dean's voice that belies the kidding, the only surface hint of all the things they don't say. It warms as much as the thick richness of the sunshine and Sam suddenly can't wait to see Dean's face when he presents him with the guitar.

Dad had mentioned it to him offhand one night a day or so before…. Before the demon. Before the truck. It had been a total throwaway mention, but it had stuck with Sam.

 _You know Dean,_ Dad said, half-laughing. _Always fiddling around with one thing or another. Right after you left, he bought this cherry red six-string, like he was going to be the next Johnny Cash or something. Only had it a couple months 'fore he sold it again. That's Dean for you._

 _Yeah,_ Sam thinks, caressing the sun warmed plastic. _That's Dean for you._

From down the track, the train whistles, loud and mournful. "Gotta go," Sam says. "Train's coming."

Dean mutters something that sounds like "…not soon enough," but it's indistinct enough that they can both pretend. Sam clicks off the line and hoists the hard case in one hand and his duffel in the other.

The cigarette-smoking girl stubs out the butt with one sandaled toe and lazes her way vaguely in his direction. "You play?" she asks, tipping her head towards the guitar. Her eyes are speculative and bold, looking Sam up and down.

Even if it hadn't been for Dean, since Meg, Sam finds himself vaguely suspicious of 'chance-met' girls. "Nah." He shakes his head ruefully. "It's a gift for my…" He pauses, unsure which descriptor he wants to use. None of them seem quite adequate. "Dean," he finally says.

"Your Dean?" the girl repeats, thin plucked eyebrows lifting up.

"Yeah," Sam says, thinking that's as good an explanation as any.

**Author's Note:**

> **Homeward Bound by Simon & Garfunkel**
> 
> I'm sittin' in the railway station  
>  Got a ticket for my destination  
>  On a tour of one night stands  
>  My suitcase and guitar in hand  
>  And every stop is neatly planned  
>  For a poet and a one man band
> 
> Homeward bound  
>  I wish I was  
>  Homeward bound  
>  Home, where my thought's escaping  
>  Home, where my music's playing  
>  Home, where my love lies waiting  
>  Silently for me
> 
> Everyday's an endless stream  
>  Of cigarettes and magazines  
>  And each town looks the same to me  
>  The movies and the factories  
>  And every stranger's face I see  
>  Reminds me that I long to be
> 
> Homeward bound  
>  I wish I was  
>  Homeward bound  
>  Home, where my thought's escaping  
>  Home, where my music's playing  
>  Home, where my love lies waiting  
>  Silently for me
> 
> Tonight I'll sing my songs again  
>  I'll play the game and pretend  
>  But all my words come back to me  
>  In shades of mediocrity  
>  Like emptyness in harmony  
>  I need someone to comfort me
> 
> Homeward bound  
>  I wish I was  
>  Homeward bound  
>  Home, where my thought's escaping  
>  Home, where my music's playing  
>  Home, where my love lies waiting  
>  Silently for me  
>  Silently for me  
>  Silently for me


End file.
